


Gilded Sun & Crescent Moon

by thunderswept



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fiction, Mentions of Death, Minimal fluff, Multi, Painting, Probably bad use of equestrian terms, romance... I think, slight angst, using the word paint too many times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-01-17 05:16:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderswept/pseuds/thunderswept
Summary: This world is not inviting to people like Kyungsoo.So he hides himself, just so he can live.And then comes Jongin.





	Gilded Sun & Crescent Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xiseoks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiseoks/gifts).



> Okay! I want to start by saying I'm really glad I was able to come up with all of this from the one prompt I thought I could write because everything else seemed out of my capabilities (they were great prompts but I haven't read Harry Potter, sorry). I really hope I wrote this well for my recipient! 
> 
> And I am so sorry I am this late :c I also want to say thank you mods for being so lenient with me and letting me have enough time to complete this. I know I struggled a lot with finishing quickly (as I kept saying I would finish soon!) but I finally did it! It is currently 7:02 AM and I'm about to head to PSAT testing /slowly melts into a puddle of regret/ on a Saturday. Oh well~
> 
> Also, sorry again if there are any mistakes, especially towards the end! Some of it is beta'd, some of it isn't. Shout out to Alexa and Bo though B) Some real cool beans right there.

“How much?”

 

Kyungsoo looks up from where he’s setting up the rest of his paintings for sale. A woman from the street is resting her hand on the gold-painted frame of one of his favorite pieces. Her dress is a royal blue with finely sewn seams, her style is classy, and she’s fully painted. The artwork of interest is a charming illustration of blueberries still on the bush, sunlight making the leaves glow. It did suit her just fine. “Would 70 chippings be too much?”

 

“I’ll pay you 80.”

 

The painter bids the lady a good afternoon as she disappears into the street crowd, filled with other full paintings.

 

He sells four other pieces for more than he asks for, and later thanks the pottery shop for letting him set up out front. They thank him, in turn, for drawing people to the store with his work.

 

The oncoming dusk brings a dewiness to the air that has Kyungsoo rushing to return home. He tries not to look into the alleyways as he passes them by, afraid of the haunting familiarity he would see. There isn’t much to carry up the steps of his apartment, once he reaches it. Two paintings out of the eight that he brought, which went unsold, but they’ll be gone the next time Kyungsoo sets up again.

 

Everyone buys his art. He’s the son of a gifted painter, not that anyone knows.

 

He doesn’t even know who his own father is; it’s just a feeling that the man was someone talented and great.

 

Flakes of paint run down the drain as Kyungsoo bathes, his false skin washing away as he no longer feels like he’s pretending. He’s a pretense when he blends in with the privileged; a half-born, quite literally. Foggy mirrors show his rough edges and shaded areas with plans to render his image realistically.

 

He’s sketchy. Arguably, there are many fine points, and he at least has some layer to show for his painter’s efforts, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough in this world. The people here, the ones who see themselves and think so highly, they are not kind. They are not kind to anyone but themselves, and they are all the same.

 

Kyungsoo glances anxiously at his dwindling supply of paints, taking note of planning his next trip back out onto the streets, full of many subtly searching eyes. He double checks the locks on his door and heads to bed.

 

~ 

 

The tea kettle sits on the cold stove, useless. Jongin finds his mother in the dining room, head bowed as she pinches the bridge of her nose. He’s careful not to irritate her more than she seems to be. “Mom?”

 

“Jongin, would you please go reign in your sister? She’s having another tantrum.” She sighs as she lifts herself off the seat, and goes to turn on the stove. Her modest dress swayed around her legs.

 

“She’s a bit old for this, now.”

 

“Yes, well, you know how half painteds are…”

 

Jongin frowns at the generalization. “I don’t think her behavior is related to whether or not she’s full.”

 

“We’ve talked about this too many times. That’s enough, please, I’m tired of it. Just go calm her down. I would have someone else do it, but your father is out on important business and your other sister is doing her lessons. This one doesn’t listen to me.” Exhaling a sharp huff, she watches her son expectantly.

 

Jongin nods and obediently marches up the steps to his sister’s shared room, still displeased. There’s a quick and dull clank that can be heard through the door to where his sister is. She must be throwing things again. A lighter tap comes through the door. Jongin knocks for fair warning before he slowly cracks the door open. “Jungah?”

 

Nothing is said for a moment. Then there comes a quiet reply. “What do you want.”

 

“How are you feeling, Jungah?” Jongin asks softly as he enters the room. He approaches his sister carefully, who’s clutching a pair of cracked glasses.

 

“Like tatters, and you know it.” Her eyes are murky and her expression is smudging, altogether giving her an unhappy appearance.

 

“You know mother doesn’t like hearing people swear.”

 

“And I should care, why? You guys think nothing I say matters, that I don’t even matter. All because of my stupid eyes. So what if my eyes are little unclear? I don’t look any different than Rahee! I’m practically fully painted. This is all so unfair.” Tears streak down her cheeks, making her colors run.

 

“You’re ruining your paint, Jungah,” Jongin says as he gently wipes his sister’s tears away. “I listen to what you have to say. When have I done any different?” He runs his hand over her hair in a soothing motion.

 

She sniffles and huffs frustratedly. “Why are you so nice?”

 

Jongin smiles as he says, “Should I not be?”

 

“It makes it hard to be mad at you.” Though sounding as if she wants to be angry, her disgruntled tone is not too convincing.

 

Paying more attention, Jongin can tell she’s fighting a smile. “I’m glad, then, that I’m nice, even if you say you don’t quite prefer it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Her cheeks are drying as her tears cease, the oil paint in her eyes returning back to normal. “Just... “ she trails off.

 

Jongin leans closer, encouraging her to continue. “Just what?”

 

“Never change, okay? You’re a really good brother to me.” She fidgets before turning to Jongin and spreading her arms, as if to ask for a hug.

 

Grinning, he jumps and practically tackles his sister with an embrace, their laughter ringing cheerily in the midday.

 

~

 

With a shaky hand, one last swipe of a dulled coral color finishes the mask.

 

Kyungsoo dreads this day.

 

On any other day, he could enjoy the day with the reassurance that he’s not too far from the safety of his apartment. However, his recent order for the new paints he needs can not be delivered to his door. He can’t even go to pick it up at the nearest postal service. They’ve asked him to go personally pick up the supplies himself, a stressful trip by bus. He curses his job for requiring such inconvenient materials, and curses the sellers for not providing better shipping service— or any delivering service at all. Maybe he should berate himself for not investing in a car.

 

Despite all the misfortunes, his self-employed job is so flexible that getting enough sleep for the trip was not a problem.

 

There’s no time to waste, though. Apparently, they’ll only hold his order for four days. At least, that what he’d heard.

 

Putting a sun hat on, he exits his safe haven with an anxious sigh, fumbling with his keys to lock the door. He hoped the trip wouldn’t take long, so he only packed enough to get by. A backpack with two spare changes of clothing, and other necessities.

 

It quells some of the anxiousness Kyungsoo feels when the bus isn’t too full after the third stop. There’s still another day to go.

 

The more he thinks about it, the more he starts to realize how ridiculous the whole situation is. He shouldn’t be traveling so strenuously to get quality paint. It’s partly his own fault that he is where he is. If only he had checked the shipping procedures, or their lack of. No matter how long Kyungsoo will mull it over, it’s too late anyway, and he sighs from a sort of mental defeat with himself. The paints were expensive. He won’t put off this trip just because he feels a little too lazy for it.

 

Still, he finds distracting himself difficult. Moments where everyone is jostled at the same whenever the bus goes over a particularly “exciting” bump are the most interesting ones so far.

 

Kyungsoo is drained by the time he’s gotten off on his last stop. Something about sitting down for so long on a bus, and a few naps here and there, with the ever present company of the bus driver and occasional rider that leaves you self conscious about whatever you do, is entirely tiring. Or maybe he’s just so strung up he’s finding reasons for why he’s having to suffer at the moment as a means to distract himself. Yeah, that’s it.

 

He pulls out a compact mirror from his pocket, flicking it open to assess his image. He visibly releases tension from his hunched shoulders once he sees his mask isn’t threatening to flake away. Despite this, he will need to retouch the paint.

 

The surrounding area seems sparse and rural, with Kyungsoo standing on the small bus stop platform in what feels like the middle of nowhere. He knows he’s in the right town. He thinks he’s in the right town. It must be the right town, he checked with the driver before they left. He thinks he checked…

 

One thing’s for sure, he’s a sluggish mess right now.

 

Kyungsoo is ready to leave as soon as he can, and he treads in the direction that the bus drove off in, knowing that in the other direction— the direction behind him— there is nothing. It takes five minutes before he sees any sign of civilization. A smooth, black buggy car, looking suspiciously fancy and expensive for some reason, drives by him. Looking around at the buildings nearest to him, Kyungsoo realizes why the car seemed suspiciously fancy.

 

The town seems unfit for a fancy, expensive car. It’s the kind of town where you’d expect to see slightly rickety pickup trucks and more bikes than anything. Even with this appearance, the town is very well kept— and populated. It actually has everything you could need in a town, Kyungsoo notices this as he strolls around the shops and institutes a bit more. He suspects he’ll find his paints somewhere in one of the stores. He should, at least.

 

Kyungsoo momentarily panics at the prospect of not being able to figure out where his paints are, while also not knowing how to contact the shop holding them. He calms down when he realizes he could just ask someone for help. Hopefully they’d help.

 

Pausing in his movement, he gingerly touches his face, remembering that he still needs to go over his mask. A cafe down the street draws him over with a neon sign reading ‘KoKoffee’.

 

“A drink and a nice restroom,” Kyungsoo mumbles to himself. “I hope.”

 

It’s conditioned in the cafe, and the first thing he notices is the complimenting decor and color themes. As an artist, he is very pleased. Nothing beats an establishment with style and good taste. He nods at the barista who greets him, walking up to ask if he can use the restroom. They point him to the back.

 

“Thank you.” Kyungsoo smiles, but it falls when the worker gives him a curious look, staring at his mouth. He brings his hand up to cover the corner where he can feel his paint dry and peel. Nodding randomly, he hurries to the restroom.

 

~

 

“Dear, I really want a family portrait.” Tea cups clinking follow her words.

 

“We could give the man a call, have a request sent for him.” There’s the ruffle of the daily paper.

 

“Do you know where he’s staying?”

 

“I’ll ask around. You only know he’s here because word of mouth. Should be simple.”

 

“I don’t know how good he is, really, but Betty has a lot of positive things to say about his work.”

 

Jongin shuffles into the breakfast room, the residual effects of sleep keeping him from looking very awake. He’s donning a soft, white button up, a belt holding up his black slacks. His bare feet patter against the cold, marble floor.

 

“Ooh,” Jongin’s mother coos, approaching the sleepy looking boy. He is actually a full-ground adolescent, not that the Misses would agree. “My son looks so handsome dressed up like that.”

 

“Atta boy,” the father says. “Dressing smart, like any son of mine should.”

 

“I wear this nearly every week.” Jongin gives his parents a subtle but pointed look so as not to spark any remark about disrespect in their household. “Do you have anything that you’d like me to do today?” It was Saturday, and on those days he has no obligatory lessons to attend to. Most times he ends up being his parent’s errand boy, since they claim to be too busy to do the little things. He doesn’t mind it much. They provide for him, and he simply has to be their perfect son. That is, as perfect as he can make them believe.

 

“Yes, actually,” his mother beams appreciatively. “Would you be a dear and run on over to town? I have an address I need you to visit, and here’s a letter I need you to deliver to there.” She hands him a white envelope, the address written in black ink on the plain side. Jongin, feeling a little more fresh, takes and examines it.

 

“I can go after breakfast,” he says, and tolerates the soft patting from his mother, probably to smooth out his hair.

 

Jungah shuffles into the room, receiving no acknowledgment from the parents, but a look of concern from her brother. She plucks a piece of toast with spread and disappears through the back doors that lead outside.

 

“Actually, mom, could I just have some fruit, and I could just get something else while in town? I’d like to check on the stable and head to town soon after.”

 

“Sure, honey.”

 

“My boy likes to get things done,” the man at the breakfast table chuckles while not looking up from his news articles.

 

Jongin indulges his father with a sound of agreement and makes sure to pick two pears from the fruit basket sitting beside the man.

 

~

 

The sun hangs high and bright in the sky, giving the family’s backyard the glow of a dream. Between two trees hangs a hammock on which Jungah is swinging idly. Her head bowed, she doesn’t give any indication of noticing Jongin’s presence. Of the three children, Jongin and Jungah seem to enjoy having nothing restricting their feet, so the grass tickles their sensitive skin, albeit pleasantly.

 

Jongin takes his sister unaware and dances into view, skipping and twirling once. He lands right in front of her, deeming his mission accomplished when Jungah jumps back and chortles at her brother’s silly antics. He pulls his hands from behind him, presenting two pretty pears. Jungah accepts one and bites into it immediately.

 

“Thank you for that,” she speaks in barely coherent words, the pear’s juices threatening to trail down her chin. “You’re my favorite little brother for a reason.”

 

“I’m your only brother,” Jongin retorts around his own mouthful of fresh fruit. He sits next to his sister, propping his cheek against her shoulder in an affectionate manner.

 

“You’re probably right,” she replies in a sarcastic tone. “But, really. Did you see them? It’s like I’m invisible.”

 

“Invisible?” Jongin asks, feigning shock. He didn’t want her dwelling too much on their parent’s behavior, and would much rather take her mind off them. “Then how come I can do _this_!” He playfully pounces on Jungah, once again, a master of surprise. “Oh, and with such accuracy!” he silently cheers himself on, sprawled over his sister limply, like a pudgy cat. “Nope, I’m sure you’re very visible,” he concludes.

 

Unimpressed, Jungah waits for him to get over himself with a small smile. “Are you done yet?” she snickers.

 

With an exaggerated sigh, Jongin falls backwards on the hammock. “I suppose I am.” A moment of comfortable silence falls over them as the morning sun continues rising from the east. “Come with me to the stable?” Jongin offers.

 

“Of course, let’s go.”

 

~

 

Apparently, Kyungsoo’s paints are yet to be delivered to the small town store that, when he asked a passerby with much hesitation and second-thinking, is also apparently on the same street as Kokoffee. Imagine his frustration, of which was professionally masked under his naturally blank face. Don’t be fooled, he’s currently wringing his own soul.

 

Kyungsoo had originally planned to collect his materials as quickly as possible and continue on with his life. However, that is clearly no longer an option. He stands in front of the door to a room of a questionable motel, recommended to him by the store owner who broke the bad news to him with, “Sorry, but your goods will be here in a week. My bad, there’s been some shipping delays. At least, that’s what I heard.”

 

“That’s what I heard _yada yada_ ,” Kyungsoo grumbles under his breath, maintaining his blank face as he jams his keycard into the lock scanner. “Not even a phone call to, I don’t know, let me know?” he sighs defeatedly. One week in this old-fashioned hotel room, the air a little mustier than he would like, but for a reasonable price. It will do.

 

Other people might suffer the long bus ride back home, but Kyungsoo doesn’t want to have to ride them more than he needs to.

 

He’s relieved that he brought a small set of tools to paint as a way to occupy himself. Before the trip, he imagined he was overpacking, only expecting to come and go. Now, he thanks his former self for having the unrealized intuition to prepare for his current situation.

 

One second too long is spent watching the red numbers on the worn alarm clock change a few minutes before Kyungsoo blinks and considers his options. He could sleep, but he doesn’t feel tired. It would seem reasonable to feel tired after long, long hours of being shuttled, but oddly enough, his few naps here and there seem to do the trick.

 

Kyungsoo decides to take what bare minimum of supplies he has and strolls to the park he passed by. The playground gives him the idea of a miniature carnival with muted colors and without the greasy food vendors. There are no loud crowds, and the park is strangely void of children. Instead of unsettling, there is a calmness that loosens his tense shoulders. Facing upwards, he breathes in.

 

He becomes more absorbed in his work with each stroke and blend. The shadows have moved as the day presses on and the sun nears the midsky.

 

There is no reason that Kyungsoo is aware of as to why he decides to look away from his canvas. Instead of focusing intently on the scenery before him, it feels as if he has heard some small sound in the wind, and his mind thinks it important to catch it before it disappears. It beckons his will.

 

The open entrance to the park lies between dense greenery, and across the street from the sidewalk sit storefronts of various goods. On that sidewalk, there is a young man with the aura of purity and good conscience strolling along. It’s not hard to tell, for his smile betrays him as such. Kyungsoo almost mistakes him for an even younger person, perhaps thinking him a boy instead, if not for the clearly middle aged woman who greets the other happily. It is obvious that the possible assumption would turn out to be wrong. The young man, taller than the woman, leans down a bit to take both of her hands and shakes them politely. They exchange words Kyungsoo can not make out.

 

One detail strikes Kyungsoo as most peculiar; the woman is half painted.

 

He holds his breath at this realization. Never has he seen such an interaction between people of different status and social standing.

 

All too soon, the two depart on their own separate ways, and Kyungsoo is left with unanswered questions: how _how_ and _why_. Was this common in this town? Was the man simply kind-hearted to such an astonishing degree?

 

He is broken out of his thought when the paintbrush falls from his loosened grip. In his hurry to pick up the brush, he kicks over his open bottles of what little paint he brought along. He heaves a strained sigh.

 

So much for serenity.

 

~

 

In one precise leap, like a practiced movement in a string of choreography, Jongin clasps the reigns midair as it trails freely behind his galloping mare. He soars for a moment and gives an excited shout of personal pride when his legs settle expertly on either side of the horse. Blood pumps through him excitedly with adrenaline and wholesome joy. At this speed, the wind rushes between their hairs, presenting a wild and untamed picture of exuberance and energy.

 

Jongin will never feel anything more livening than this.

 

His heart is erratic and the day is warm enough for perspiration to bead on his neck in a pleasant way. Once they begin to slow, he guides Stella back home with a steady trot, appreciating the way her solid, steel gray coat shifts against the bone of her neck. She’s a beautiful creature, and Jongin is proud to have raised her from when she was a weanling. He leans over to pat her fondly near her head, and she shakes her mane and neighs quietly. Their bond is like no other that Jongin has. He cherishes it dearly.

 

Once out of the vast field and in view of his family’s old country mansion, Jongin keeps an eye out for his mother. She usually tries to catch wind of him doing anything she disapproves of— like racing his horse across the valley— so he slows Stella down exponentially and tries not to look out of breath. Sure enough, he spots his mother by the fence, pretending not to notice he’s back. When she does turn up her head, she smiles innocently and waves.

 

He hops off and leads Stella over to the fence.

 

“Hi, mother. Is there something you need?” he inquires, leaning over to give his mother a customary chaste peck on the cheek. He doesn’t think much of it, but mother appreciates it, so he indulges her. There’s a reason he’s everyone’s favorite son, whether biologically related or not. It’s a strange concept that Jongin, once again, doesn’t think too much of. He can’t help but be loved, as conceited as it sounds.

 

“Why is it that you assume I’m always wanting something when I come to see you?” she jokes admonishingly. “I’m just here to see how my son is doing with his horse training. It’s been good?”

 

“Amazing, actually,” Jongin provides, running his hand along Stella’s neck. “She listens to me really well.”

 

“That’s nice to hear. I’d say she deserves a little treat. Perhaps an apple from the orchard?”

 

“A great idea,” Jongin agrees.

 

It turns out, his mother seeked him out to help pick apples to carry inside for her plans to make apple pie and fritters. None of it is a big deal, since there will be desserts to come out of it. Also, rarely does Jongin’s mother allow him to treat his horses to their home grown apples. He always sneaks a few, despite. Yes, he is more rebellious than most might assume. Being an apple thief is quite thrilling.

 

Once all the chores are done, and he brings back the well deserved apples back to Stella, and maybe sneaks another for Kleo, who stops picking at his hay at the sound of Jongin. After checking their food and making sure nothing is out of place, he closes the stable for the day.

 

~

 

Kyungsoo reads the letter over again.

 

It has been a few days into his stay in the town. He’s getting used to the drab decor of his room and often pays visits to the little park that reminds him of red balloons and children’s merry go rounds. A couple canvases sit drying in the corner on some newspaper he acquired from some shops.

 

It seems that his next piece will be a family portrait, if all goes well. Kyungsoo suspects they’re an upstanding family, if the fancy wax seal had anything to show. Usually only the rich people wanted family portraits these days, or could afford them. Not that he wants to, but Kyungsoo will have to charge quite a bit per family member added into the piece. He’s guessing the charge won’t be a problem.

 

When people pay artists to make what they ask, the artist doesn’t get to pick their subject. Therefore, the work is more expensive. This is what Kyungsoo considers artist logic. Take it or leave it.

 

The family apparently lives near the town, and that’s how they got wind of his visit. He never thought he was so widely known that he might be the talk of the town— or more like the talk of a few individuals who may have gotten a hold of some of his paintings. According to the letter, Kyungsoo is highly regarded. He can’t help but swell a little with pride.

 

They’re offering him a room in their home for however long it may take for the portrait to be finished. He starts to pack, thinking of how he’s glad he didn’t pay for the several nights stay at the hotel all in one go. It might’ve been a hassle to get a refund.

 

For now, the bigger problem is finding transportation.

 

~

 

There’s a rumbling on the driveway of which Jongin can hear from inside the house. It’s strange, since they don’t get many visitors. His curiosity brings him to the window of the hallway which gives view to the front of the house. Sunlight typically pours in during the mornings and the lights switch on when as the day continues. Jongin always loved this aspect of the house.

 

It takes a bit of walking to get to the appropriate window in order to get a clear view of the curved, gravel driveway. The house is large, and Jongin couldn’t bother to jog down the hall. By the time he’s able to peek out the window, the car is driving off, and he guesses that it dropped something, or someone, off. Maybe his parents invited someone over? The car didn’t look like a typical mail truck.

 

He rushes down to see if he’s needed for anything, always the one to take common courtesy too far when it comes to his family. If they’ve been delivered something, maybe he needs to carry it somewhere. If someone’s arrived, he should go greet them like the polite person he is.

 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Jongin hears his mother say on his way down the stairs. “I’ve never thought about having one done, but when I heard about you, I got excited.”

 

“It will be a pleasure to work for you,” comes a deeper voice, one that intrigued Jongin thoroughly. So, there is a visitor. “Miss?”

 

“Please call me Mrs. Kim. Oh, Jongin!” his mother greets when she sees him. “Come meet Kyungsoo. Did I ever tell you about how I wanted a family portrait? Kyungsoo here is such a good painter.”

 

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” Jongin bows, thinking about whether he should offer his hand to shake. It’s when he properly meets Kyungsoo’s gaze that he stops and stares. His mouth is left slightly ajar as he takes in the painter’s appearance, who is gorgeous beyond what Jongin has ever seen.

 

His mother has tried in the past to introduce him to some of the prettier, high standing girls in town. None of them could ever compare to the man before him. His skin is dewey and his eyes shine with something genuine, stealing Jongin’s focus and leaving him blanking.

 

Kyungsoo would have found the last detail ironic.

 

Jongin’s mother stands, confused at the sudden silence and the pause in her son. Kyungsoo notices the tone in the room and inelegantly makes an effort to start up conversation.

 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jongin,” he says with a small smile that doesn’t quite mean anything, and offers his hand. Jongin shakes it hesitantly.

 

“Well, I suppose it’s been quite a long day,” Mrs. Kim adds in with quiet clap. “Dear, would you show him to the guest room? He’ll be staying here until the portrait is finished.”

 

“O-of course,” Jongin says with a minor stutter, clearing his throat to pass it off. “Please follow me— what may I call you?”

 

“Kyungsoo is fine,” the painter answers softly, leaning down to pick up his bags.

 

“Let me,” Jongin says quickly, surprising the other man when he moves to scoop up the luggage. They narrowly avoid bumping into each other. He watches Kyungsoo as he exchanges a few more words with his mother. The painter excuses himself as he disappears out the front door, coming back in with a few canvases in tow. Jongin gawks at how amazing the art is.

 

Mrs. Kim gasps when she sees them as well. “My goodness, you are incredibly talented. Jongin, what do you think?”

 

It takes a moment for him to find is words. “Can we purchase them?” he asks tentatively. “They’re really pretty.”

 

“Oh, thank you. You’re both so kind.” Kyungsoo’s smile is so charming. “If you’d like, I can gift them to you. I wouldn’t mind.”

 

“No!” Jongin blurts, chest pounding as he begins to feel warm from embarrassment. He quickly adds, “You deserve to get something in return for them. Please, let us pay.”

 

“I agree,” his mother hums. “We can discuss this later, perhaps during dinner. Kyungsoo, you’ll join us?”

 

“I’d be delighted,” Kyungsoo says in reply.

 

~

 

The doors creaks shut while he pretends to busy himself with unpacking. Kyungsoo exhales slowly and ceases his movements, closing his eyes to try and calm his nervous heart. Meeting the man from the park had surely been a surprise. He felt so self-conscious throughout the entire ordeal, though he tried not to show it. Was his paint chipped? Oh god.

 

Kyungsoo hadn’t thought about the chances of possibly running into the same person in this situation. The son of a wealthy family with a high social status comfortably associated with the people that his kind were not usually friendly to. People like Kyungsoo, who could not mask themselves. Those chances alone serve to be slim.

 

What is this world trying to tell him?

 

~

Jongin hurries into his sister’s room, and he could feel a little bit of sweat gathering in places he wish they wouldn’t. Sweating in general is not preferable in any case. He turns to see Jungah give him a questioning look.

 

“What’s up with you?” she asks, closing the book in her hands.

 

“You know that portrait mom wants?” Jongin starts off. “The painter is here. He’ll be staying here for a bit.”

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me about that dumb painting mom wants. I probably won’t be included, or she’s gonna make him paint me some better eyes. As if I didn’t feel worse off, they’re gonna hang up a representation of what they wish I look like.” Jungah slumps onto her bed, aggressively flipping her book back open.

 

“I— that’s not— I’m really sorry you feel that way,” Jongin tries to say.

 

“Forget it. Why did you run in here all out of breath, though? Did he look at you weird?”

 

“No, but I think I looked at him weird,” Jongin mumbles, a little embarrassed.

 

Jungah gasps, mouth wide with a smug and knowing look. “Don’t tell me, he’s hot isn’t he?” she goads, finally tossing her book aside and she scoots to the edge of her bed, patting the space beside her. “Come on, you gotta tell me now. I’ll go see for myself if you don’t.”

 

“Please don’t,” Jongin begs as he sits beside her. “I don’t know, he’s just got these really pretty eyes and I just froze up in front of him and mom. I think she could tell something was up.”

 

“Ooh, so the eyes do it for you,” Jungah says, winking, and giggles when Jongin scowls and shoves her weakly to the side.

 

“Don’t say things like that, it’s weird.”

 

“Yeah, well, falling in love with a painter at first sight in front of mom is even weirder.”

 

“It was in front of mom!” Jongin cries pathetically, flopping back onto the bed and pressing the palm of his hands onto his forehead. “I can’t believe this is it. This is where it all goes and falls apart.”

 

“I thought I was the most dramatic,” Jungah says, flipping her hair and fluttering her lashes sarcastically. “What are you so worried about, anyways?”

 

“Don’t you think mom and dad might disapprove? Especially because…?”

 

“That doesn’t matter, and who says they have to know?” Jungah shakes her head with a conspiratory smirk. “You poor thing. Have you never done a single act of rebelliousness in your entire life?”

 

A few seconds of silence pass before Jongin lets out a meek, “I don’t think so…”

 

“Well, you perfect trophy child, now’s the time. He’ll be at dinner, won’t he? I have to make sure he’s worthy of my sister stamp of approval.”

 

~

 

“So, how long have you been painting?” Mrs. Kim asks, her utensils clinking against her dinner plate while she scoops up some cooked vegetables. Her husband sits at the head of the table, cutting into his steak as he appears to be listening intently. Jongin and Jungah sit next to each other, with Jungah constantly nudging her brother to stop staring onto his plate— not that anyone else notices. The third and oldest sibling, Jinhee, sits next to Kyungsoo, lips stretched into a suspicious but small smile.

 

At least, Jongin finds it suspicious.

 

“For about as long as I can remember,” Kyungsoo says with uneasy laughter. “I grew up with it, and was always proficient from since I was young.”

 

“Did you learn from anyone? Took classes, perhaps?”

 

“Well, to think of it, I can’t really say. I remember, I saw such beautiful art, and I knew they were my father’s work. I think the inspiration and passion came from that, although I don’t have many memories regarding my father. Not even his name.”

 

“Oh, well that’s certainly peculiar isn’t it?” Mrs. Kim asks in general, looking to her husband. “Not to be rude.”

 

“Certainly,” Mr. Kim replies shortly, sounding tired but content. Kyungsoo won’t hold it against him for being so disinterested. He’d rather nobody be interested in his life. It would mean less questions.

 

The small talk continues, with Kyungsoo clearly not finding any of it interesting himself, but he doesn’t want to make it obvious and it mostly passes off as him seeming nervous. A couple times during the dinner, he sneaks a glance at the only son of the family. Jongin doesn’t seem the be the most sociable of the bunch. Kyungsoo begins to feel restless, moreso when he’s being roped into more unwanted conversation, and the sister next to him won’t stop giving him secretive smiles. He shifts in his seat.

 

“Jinhee is such a talented little lady. I would love for her to learn some of the fine arts. Kyungsoo, how do you feel about maybe teaching her a few painting skills? She may pick it up quickly,” Mrs. Kim brings up, far too excited for the painter’s preference. “We would pay for it like it were tutoring.”

 

Restraining a sigh of reluctance, Kyungsoo forces himself to nod. “Of course, I would love to teach your daughter.” He grimaces internally when Jinhee turns to him with unfiltered eagerness and hope. “Ah, perhaps I could teach Jongin and— I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced?” Kyungsoo turns to the one sister in the room whose name he doesn’t know. He sees her eyes, the way they’re not defined, like they’re one step away from finished. He sees her guard come up, and he feels protective, knowing she does not receive the same treatment as everyone else. Kyungsoo likes to think Jongin treats his sister well.

 

“Jungah,” she supplies curtly. “I don’t want to paint.” Her brother looks at her worriedly.

 

“Manners!” Mrs. Kim admonishes with a frown. “You will not decline him so impolitely.”

 

“It’s alright,” Kyungsoo rushes in order to calm down the situation. “She doesn’t have to participate, I don’t mind.” He tries his best to seem friendly towards Jungah, who he clearly and accidentally put into a bad mood. He does feel a little bad for it. “But, Jongin, would you like to join?” Out of the corner of his eye, Kyungsoo can see Jinhee pout disappointedly.

 

It takes a few moments for Jongin to consider the offer. “Yes,” he starts, “I would like to learn.” Jungah nudges his shoulder with her own with a mischievous quirk of her lips.

 

Kyungsoo isn’t sure if Jongin is blushing.

 

~

 

The door creaks open on the two chattering siblings in the room. They look up at the sound of the intruder.

 

“Jinhee?” Jongin calls out.

 

“What is it that you want?” Jungah demands nonchalantly, propping her heel up on the edge of the bed. She eyes her sister with cold indifference.

 

“Jongin, don’t come to the painting lessons.” Being the first out of her mouth, the other two siblings gawk at the brazen command coming from the oldest. “It’s an art for women anyways. Or, well, women and men who were meant to paint. Anyways, I would like it to be just me with the painter.”

 

“Do you even hear yourself?” Jungah growls, glaring at Jinhee who attempts to keep her chin high as she looks down on the youngest of the three. “Who made you the one to decide who can or cannot paint? Buzz off.”

 

Jinhee bristles at the blatant dismissal. “I will not have you speak to me that way.”

 

“What are you going to do about it? Go and be your petty self. The painter doesn’t even like you. With the way you were smiling at him all infatuated during dinner, you scared him off.”

 

Redness breaks out on Jinhee’s face, and if you had an imagination, you could see the steam pour ‘elegantly’ out of her ears. “I’ll tell mother you spoke to me like this.”

 

“What? You can’t handle a few words? Jinhee, I thought you might be a tougher than this, but you’re not, and guess who’s not surprised.”

 

“Jongin! Tell that half painting to shut her mouth,” Jinhee snaps at her brother, hand placed daintily on her hips, expecting him to obey.

 

Jongin throws a disgusted look towards his oldest sister and places a gentle hand on Jungah’s shoulder, who visibly calms down from the touch. “We shouldn’t fight anymore.” He calmly smiles, bewildering Jinhee while Jungah looks proud. “Let’s learn how to paint with Kyungsoo, okay? Jungah, you should really join us, but only if you want. Have a good night everyone. Sleep well,” he says, more directly at the obvious favorite of his sisters.

 

With that, he gets up and leaves the room swiftly. Jungah laughs with amusement, watching Jinhee scoff loudly as she storms out of the room.

 

~

 

“You should angle your brush to get a better effect, and this will even blend at the same time while you’re at it. Pay attention to how the bristles move.” Kyungsoo stands behind his two pupils, keenly watching their progress. From the start, Jinhee showed more proficiency compared to Jongin, but both were putting forth their best effort and Kyungsoo doesn’t need much more than that. “You’re both doing well,” Kyungsoo praises.

 

Jongin hisses inwardly when he makes a mistake after losing control over his brush. The curve of the pear is now slightly deformed, but not drastically so. He turns to Kyungsoo wearing genuine guilt. “I ruined it…”

 

“You’re doing fine, Jongin,” Kyungsoo assures, stepping forward to take Jongin’s hand with the paintbrush, and guides it back to the artwork. “I’ll help you here. Just improvise.” Jongin tenses against him.

 

To the side, Jinhee scowls to herself, facing away from the pair. She exhales, annoyed, and tosses her hair behind her. “Kyungsoo,” she quips with a higher pitched voice.

 

Said painter looks up in question. “Yes, Jinhee?”

 

“Would you come take a look—” she starts, but suddenly yelps an ‘oh’ when her own hand slips, the tip of the brush still against the pear. “Oh no,” she mourns exaggeratedly, “what do I do?” It was obvious she could have been more careful, and in fact was very capable of doing so.

 

Kyungsoo sighs, trying to mask his disappointment. “Jinhee, I thought you were much more careful than this. Your mishap is minor, however. Try your best to paint over it, as I’m sure you can do so without much trouble.”

 

Staring with barely concealed shock and disbelief, she faces her painting with jealousy. He would help her younger brother and his pathetic excuse of a painting, and not her? A damn near prodigy— but maybe she was overplaying it all. Still, what is wrong with this man? She continues to work with a hint of aggression.

 

Jongin, on the other hand, is not sure if he should take his teacher’s words to heart, when Kyungsoo basically implied Jongin couldn’t fix his own work. It doesn’t hurt as much when the painter is so close, almost flush against himself. If making mistakes means he can receive special attention, which Jinhee clearly craves, then fumble he will.

 

When Kyungsoo deems Jongin well enough to work on his own again, he steps away, not noticing the immediate release of Jongin’s withheld breath. “I’m very proud of you both,” Kyungsoo says.

 

Jongin is left feeling dazed and a little flustered.

 

~

 

“How is the progress, Kyungsoo?” Mrs. Kim strolls into the kitchen, finding the painter grabbing a glass of water. His buttoned shirt, a few undone, is splattered with spots of paint.

 

Kyungsoo clears his throat and touches his face unconsciously. Hopefully his paint looks okay. “Progress has been steady, but we may need to go back for another sitting to get some more details down.”

 

“Dear, I do love my dress but sitting for such a long while— I really wish we didn’t need to!” She chuckles. “And I hope you are enjoying your stay?”

 

“Of course, I am with such hospitable guests,” Kyungsoo supplies with a meaningless smile. As if right on cue in order to distract them, the sounds of horses whinnying can be heard. “You keep horses?” Kyungsoo asks with intrigue, eyes wide and excited.

 

“We do, but it’s really Jongin who takes care of them.”

 

Kyungsoo can’t help but let his curiosity draw him to the closest window while the kitchen gives a good view of the expansive, backyard and rural landscape. This young man is not only kind to the people he should scorn, but he cares for animals and has an incredibly sweet disposition. Kyungsoo can’t believe it, talk about a catch.

 

“You should go see them!” Mrs. Kim suggests with a happy clasp of her hands. “You seem quite interested and I’m sure that Jongin would love to show them to you. I’ll be off now, I have a few errands to run.” She waves the painter off and Kyungsoo bids his courtesy farewell, taking his cue to slip out through the kitchen doors.

 

The sounds of birds chirping ring clear in the air and urge him to venture further. It’s easy to spot the white barn and Kyungsoo makes his way to the building, listening intently for the occasional whinnying of the horses that live there. He wonders how many there are.

 

Upon reaching the entrance, Kyungsoo peers in and surveys the scene. The stable smells like how one would imagine it may smell; of hay and the unmistakable scent of horses living like they should… Kyungsoo doesn’t yet feel the need to pinch his nose, and he hopes Jongin keeps the place as clean as it can be.

 

“Kyungsoo?” Jongin appears from the other entrance of the stable, lead in hand as a cream colored colt trots in behind him.

 

“Jongin, hi.” The painter inches further into the building, unsure of how to proceed. “I— um, just wanted to come see the horses? Your mother mentioned you took care of them?”

 

“Oh.” Jongin looks around the stable like he’s only now realizing that he is the caretaker of two large animals that he keeps in a wooden structure behind his house. “Oh, yeah,” Jongin blurts. “I take care of two. A colt and a filly. This is the colt, Kleo,” Jongin introduces his cream colored horse, who lightly stomps on the floor, seemingly impatient. “Stella is in her stall.” He gestures to Kyungsoo’s right.

 

This prompts the painter to swivel his attention to have a peek, but he jumps when he comes face to face with a steel gray horse. “Oh!” he exclaims, jumping back a little.

 

Jongin laughs, his hand pressing on his stomach. “You didn’t hear her come up to you?”

 

“Apparently not,” Kyungsoo mutters shyly with an embarrassed smile. He was a bit preoccupied with the individual who is currently coming nearer. Jongin leads Kleo into his stall and dusts his hands when he comes out. “I hope they don’t bite?” Kyungsoo asks, trying to make talk.

 

“Anything could bite,” Jongin says as a matter of fact, “but no, Kleo and Stella don’t try to eat anyone. Typically.”

 

“Typically…” Kyungsoo parrots, unsure of how he to interpret the meaning. He just hopes the horses don’t give themselves reason to bite off his hand— he needs those.

 

“Well, they might nick a finger if they get excited when you feed them an apple. But it’s fine,” Jongin concludes and holds up both of his hands, fingers splayed. They looked unharmed, youthful, and without blemish. “See?”

 

“That’s nice to know.” Kyungsoo holds his own hand out for Stella to smell before he makes a move to pet her slowly. Her hair feels coarse, although he thought it might be softer.

 

Jongin gazes openly from the side, the side of his head resting on his palm with his elbow propped on the stall’s door. He breaks into a smile when an idea pops into his mind. “Kyungsoo.”

 

“Hmm? The painter hums in response. He’s running his hands more freely along Stella, petting wherever she seems to react best. The horse nudges him to continue when he pauses.

 

“Would you like to ride her? I have yet to take her out to roam, but they’ve been grazing previously. She probably still has some energy in her. What do you say?”

 

Kyungsoo can barely hold back a grin. “If you will teach me, then I would love to.”

 

~

 

The evening was fast approaching, making the sky turn lilac and pink in color and the clouds glow with the sun’s remaining golden light. Crickets are chirping properly now, giving the night its usual ruckus. The season is ripe for fireflies to flash their twinkle as they dance between tall grass and the trees. There are just a few more hours left in the day, just enough, to let the last few stragglers stay out and about to do what they want.

 

From the forest comes two riders mounted on a horse, back to chest, slowly ambling along a trail. The roles are switched, and who was once the student has now become the teacher, murmuring small lessons about how to properly keep and care for horses. They ride together on the insistence of the still nervous painter.

 

“Don’t worry if you feel yourself tilting,” Jongin assures. The stiffness in Kyungsoo’s shoulders is clearly from the subtle slide of the saddle. “Remember, just use your weight to balance.” He talks confidently since he knows what he’s doing. Stella is slow with the extra person on her back, so the ride is as easygoing as it can be. “I can catch you if you fall. You won’t, though.”

 

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Kyungsoo states hurriedly, but Jongin can hear the tinge in the other’s voice that brings out his teasing nature. “I’m not worried over anything. I can handle this.”

 

“I’m sure you can,” Jongin says knowingly. It’s a split second decision that required no thinking nor consideration. Like stretching as soon as you awake or shifting in your seat, his mind thought it was simply right. Jongin leans his head a little forwards and rests his chin on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. He sighs quietly in content.

 

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo asks as calmly as he can. He doesn’t mean to go rigid, yet the action had truly surprised him. There is disappointment in his beating heart when Jongin jumps and lifts his head away.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jongin rushes, trying his best to lean back and put space between them. “I wasn’t thinking—” he stops in the middle of his apology and, with a moment of utter misery at the realization of his incoming embarrassment, falls backwards and off the horse. Stella halts with an annoyed snort.

 

Kyungsoo gasps and twists around to find Jongin sprawled on the ground, wearing an emotionless expression. “Christ, are you alright?”

 

“Well, I’m hardly Christ, laying on the dirt like this,” Jongin utters with a flourish of his hand in such a monotonous tone that Kyungsoo bursts into a bout of deep giggling. His shoulders shake and his posture relaxes and he forgets he’s alone on Stella. Jongin smiles happily at the site, feeling accomplished. He sits up. “You look like a natural rider.”

 

Pink dusts Kyungsoo’s cheeks at the comment, and he doesn’t say anything. He makes the decision to attempt to dismount the horse on his own, which isn’t as easy as he assumes. The thing is, he doesn’t know that. Jongin notices this immediately and springs up to help. It’s a good thing he did, for Kyungsoo, as predicted, lets his foot get caught in the stirrup and he cries out in surprise when his grip on the saddle slips.

 

“Whoa there!” Jongin gets the breath slightly knocked out of him as the full weight of the other man settles into his arms, and he uses some momentum to pull Kyungsoo upright again. Uncoordinated, Kyungsoo firmly collides into Jongin, his own arms instinctively wrapping around the person in front of him for balance.

 

They stand like that for a moment, maybe a moment too long, the sound of their combined puffs from the earlier panic sounding too loud in an already noisy forest. The heat from their bodies mingle and Kyungsoo jumps back suddenly, all too aware of the close proximity between them. His foot is still stuck in the stirrup all this time, and he finally yanks it out.

 

Stella blows through her snout to remind them that, yes, she is still there.

 

“Um, I’m really sorry about that,” Kyungsoo coughs, reaching up to brush off Jongin’s sleeve. He does it twice before flinching as he realizes what he’s doing. Awkwardly pulling his hand away, he shifts on his feet, looking down.

 

Jongin chuckles at the sight. “You’re fine. Are you okay?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Kyungsoo shuffles back to Stella, his hands on the saddle as he looks to remount her, but he doesn’t.

 

“It’s getting rather late, let’s head back in time for dinner. I’m sure mother is wondering where we are.” Jongin steps up beside Kyungsoo, placing his own hands next to Kyungsoo’s in a nonchalant manner, seeming uncaring about the fact that their pinkies are grazing. On the other hand, the painter is hyper aware and resists the urge to snatch his hands back. “Would you like to walk the rest of the way, or ride? I’ll be walking.”

 

Stella shakes her mane and chuffs, impatient to get moving. “I’d like to ride,” Kyungsoo answers.

 

Jongin nods, but doesn’t make any motion. His gaze burns into Kyungsoo’s side, who refuses to meet Jongin’s stare. Deciding that he’s had enough of his own pining, Jongin leans in to speedily kiss the painter’s cheek, and then moves to hoists him up onto the horse. He chooses to ignore the way the painter’s cheeks blaze even more from the grip on his waist.

 

Grinning happily to himself, he picks up the lead. Jongin clicks his tongue twice. “Come on, Stella.”

 

~

 

The faucet runs to a stop and Kyungsoo lifts his face up to stare into the mirror. He feels around his jaw to check for any clumps of washed up paint, then flicks his fingers dry of excess water. The steam in the bathroom makes a misty scene in the confined space, so he’s quick to pad quickly away from the humid environment and into cooler air.

 

It needs a window for proper ventilation, he thinks.

 

A large portrait sits in the corner of the room, propped on a stand and setting. It’s the family portrait; almost done. Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to feel.

 

Painting the family has not been any sort of emotional experience for him, although it was unarguably time-consuming and somewhat inspirationally draining. It’s not quite easy to admit that his feels his favorite part of the process was painting Jongin. He spent the most care and effort on him. His sore hands are to show for it.

 

It is not easy to admit because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel these feelings. He doesn’t know if he can let himself.

 

Aside from Jongin, he also made sure to paint Jungah as exact as he could, for Jongin had invested a little trust in the painter to notify him of Jungah’s concerns about her eyes. Kyungsoo understood completely.

 

He supposes that he shouldn’t linger too long on the finishing touches and such, as he worries may be overstaying his welcome. A near two weeks have gone by where he’s lived with the family, ate with them, and hid his true self from them. He carefully locks his room every night. In the beginning of his visit, he politely asked for respect of his privacy whenever he retires to his room. No one questioned the request, it is a common thing to want.

 

It would be so easy to finish and move on. Yet, he feels himself holding back, putting off the last few details, straying from his stool and setting down his brush. He finds himself thinking. He asks himself; why?

 

His mind flashes back to recent pictures and memories that make him hold his chest and yearn for something he can’t have, and he knows why he can’t have it. He can’t help that he can’t have it. Kyungsoo rubs at his eyes, tired and down, and he turns off the lights. The bed depresses with his weight as he settles on the edge, facing the window of his room. He exhales and listens to the silence.

 

The door creaks open.

 

Startled, he jumps up to watch as the door slowly crept open, the hallway pitch black save for a flash of white fabric. The moonlight dims as thick, dark clouds begin to shroud the sky. It rumbles.

 

“Who’s there?” Kyungsoo calls out soft and sharp. He knows he locked the door, so whoever is entering his room has the means to pick the lock. Panicking, he decides he should try to make a dash for the bathroom. However, he’s caught with no time as the door swings open, and Kyungsoo can just barely make out the shape of a young maiden. He pulls his shirt over his nose and stills.

 

“Kyungsoo.” It’s the sound of Jinhee’s voice.

 

Kyungsoo stiffens even more, his heart pumps with fear and agitation. “Why did you pick the lock? You cannot come in here uninvited, I have asked for my privacy.” He pauses. “It is so late at night. What do you want?”

 

“I live here, this is my home.” Jinhee speaks quietly and steps into the room, while the painter takes one step back for each of hers. “I can go wherever I please.” She casually shuts the door, leaving them both trapped together. “And it pleases me to come here,” she purrs into the dark.

 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Kyungsoo demands. He hopes to the high heavens that she will comply, but in the back of his mind, he knew she wouldn’t make this easy.

 

“But what if I don’t want to?” The pout is so clear in her voice and in the way she twirls her hair although it’s hard to see. “I want to say…” she says. The bed rustles as she crawls on, prowling across it. “Come closer, would you? Come lay with me.”

 

Kyungsoo recoils from the pure discomfort provoked by her words, doing the opposite of what she wants. Despite the gloom, he can see how she reaches out to the lamp on the bedside table. He realizes too late that he should have taken the time, while she spoke, to escape. “Wait, don’t,” he pleads, but it’s already happening.

 

Jungah turns on the light.

 

Kyungsoo freezes, his expression a full display of terror. He winces when she screams, dropping his shirt from covering part of his face.

 

“What— what? Why do you look like that?!” She scrambles backwards on the bed, and a door slams open from somewhere in the house.

 

“Jinhee!” The father yells. “What’s wrong, where are you?!” Everyone is waking up.

 

“Daddy, I’m here!” she shrieks.

 

It’s suffocating. Kyungsoo can’t help it as his emotions pour out in torrents of dread and fear and absolute pain; he sobs. He dashes out of the room, a bolt of lightning striking around the house and illuminating the hallway long enough for the rest of the family to see him. Long enough for Kyungsoo to see the look of surprise on the parent’s faces turn to a look of disgust and resentment. He can’t bare to find Jongin and witness his reaction.

 

Holding back choked tears, he flies down the stairwell and sprints to the kitchen. Before he can burst through the backdoors, a hand grabs a hold of his sleeve, and Kyungsoo is stopped in his tracks. He swivels around to see Jongin, full of worry.

 

“Let go,” Kyungsoo cries, weakly attempting to wrench his sleeve from the other’s unrelenting grip. “I said let me go!” He trashes more violently.

 

“Kyungsoo, please calm down,” Jongin tries to coax in a soothing voice, but the distraught man will have none of it. “Shhh, please stop, please...”

 

“You!” Jongin’s father roars, maddened, from the entrance of the kitchen. His wife stands a little ways behind him, blocking her two daughters from going any further. “You’ve been lying to us, this dirty lie!”

 

“I’m so sorry, please, I can just leave!” Kyungsoo whimpers, continuously yanking at his sleeve, wondering why Jongin won’t _let him go_. He’s so tempted to slip out of his shirt and brave the storm brewing outside. It will be no different than the maelstrom in his own heart and mind. He needs to escape.

 

“Father, don’t do this,” Jongin implores fervently, trying his best to keep a struggling Kyungsoo beside him. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

 

“Nothing? You call this nothing?” The man points angrily at the painter. “He wears this mask and sneaks into our home in a disguise. He pretends to be like us, when he was a lowly thing all along. Do not stand so close to him, I will not let you soil yourself with such vulgarity!”

 

“Father!” Jongin shouts, horrified by the man’s words. He is momentarily jerked out of balance when Kyungsoo finally rips himself from his hold, a wildly swinging door left in the painter’s wake. The pelting rain is as boisterous as the howling wind, and the thunder continues to boom. Jongin fears for Kyungsoo’s safety. He starts and tries to follow the other.

 

“Jongin!” It’s his mother’s voice. He almost couldn’t hear it. “Jongin, you listen to me right now!”

 

His shirt soaks while he stands under pouring rain, and he shivers easily. He turns to see his parents watching him anxiously, and behind them is his sister, Jungah, looking concerned. Subtly, he meets her eyes, and he signals for her not to follow.

 

“Jongin, get back inside,” his father orders with a hard face.

 

Jongin stays where he stands.

 

“You will not run after him!” His mother commands while his father turns, a disappointed expression marring his face as he stalks back into the house. “I will not allow it, and you will listen to me!” Her hands clench around her gown, wrinkling the fabric. “As my son—” she tries to finish, but her voice cracks and she looks unsure.

 

Lightning cracks in the sky, sending a surge of worry through Jongin as he whips around, searching the treeline for any signs of Kyungsoo. He gives his mother a pleading look, his hair drenched from the downpour, hanging in front of his eyes. The wind bites at his soaked skin. “I can’t,” he chokes, finding it hard to breathe. “I have to.”

 

“Jongin!” she screams. He runs, not even bothered to say sorry.

 

The sopping grass squelches beneath his feet with muddy rain and he almost slips, risking crashing into a tree just as he enters the forest. There is less grass, and now the ground is thick mud. Jongin searches for anything that could lead him along, any imprints in the softened forest floor. The trees shake dangerously, showering Jongin with leaves while he struggles to see through the darkness. He keeps running.

 

“Kyungsoo!” A branch scrapes his shoulder as he barrels past, leaving a throbbing pain behind. He doesn’t notice the color staining the wood. Through the roar and thunder, he listens as best as he can, hoping for a small sound. The storm surges on. “Where are you…” he lets out weakly, slowing down. His side aches. Never has he gone this far into the forest behind his home, but it remains the least of his worries.

 

“Kyung—” he tries to speak. A chilling gust steals his words, making him bring his arms up to shield himself so he can catch his breath. “Kyungsoo?” His whisper comes with a wracking shiver.

 

There are no thoughts of turning back, no wish to retreat back to his home and ask for forgiveness as his parents regard him with stony glares; something Jongin never usually receives. He cares not for them in this moment. Uncertainty makes him fret for one person. He keeps walking, searching, but misses the warped setting before him, and he walks into it.

 

The scene changes.

 

It’s disorienting, the cacophony of sounds now muted and Jongin feels like he’s inside instead of out. He’s unable to see the transition as be blinks through the remaining rainwater in his eyes.

 

Then, it all stops.

 

Although still cold, there’s nothing he can hear save for the faint whistle of the wind on a brisk and dry day. He breathes out mist from his mouth and around him, the surroundings begin to sharpen. Next to him is a frosted window, and on the other side is a white, blanketed field of glaring snow.

 

The room is awash in a dim blue, no lights or candles to be seen lit. Laying all around are squarish frames draped with cloth, gathering dust. Jongin turns behind him and stills.

 

Sitting on top of a table is a painted portrait of his family, but not the one by Kyungsoo. The image is different, the positions are different, and the location is of a different room in their house. Old, aged. Its cloth covering hangs precariously off the corner edge. Jongin can see his sister next to himself in the piece, her eyes incomplete. He doesn’t understand.

 

Looking down, he realizes his clothes are dry and he quickly runs his hands through his dry hair, completely befuddled.

 

“Jongin?” There comes a whisper. Standing apprehensively by the doorway is Kyungsoo, his arm curled around a smaller picture frame. “How did you get here?”

 

“I followed you, Kyungsoo.” Jongin rushes up to the other and embraces him warmly, and although Kyungsoo does not relax into it, Jongin is simply relieved he is alright. “You shouldn’t have run out into the storm, I was so worried for you. I had to follow to make sure you would be alright.” A moment of silence passes.

 

“Why?” Kyungsoo speaks timidly.

 

“What do you mean why?” Jongin looks at the man before him, astounded. “Should I not be worried?”

 

Kyungsoo gazes up and into Jongin’s eyes and see the color glimmer in the low lighting, and his pent up emotions well in his own eyes. “Do you not see me?” His lip trembles.

 

“I see you, I see you,” Jongin hushes, pulling Kyungsoo closer and gently running his hand over the other’s back. “I see that you are beautiful and I want to see you smile instead of being sad.” He feels Kyungsoo press himself closer in response, seeking comfort.

 

“I’m only half painted…” Kyungsoo mumbles into Jongin’s shirt. “We can’t be friends, we can’t be together.”

 

“I don’t care,” Jongin says softly. “Can’t you see that? I don’t care what anyone else thinks, and I don’t care if you’re complete. I don’t care if anyone is complete.”

 

“You should. You care about your parents.” Pulling back slightly, Kyungsoo stares forward, sniffling all the while. “They’re your family. You live with them, Jongin.”

 

“I know that, but that doesn’t mean I need to conform to their views, and I don’t always have to stay with them forever.”

 

“What about Jungah? The horses?”

 

“She’s a strong spirit, she can take care of herself. We can all figure everything out, I promise.” They step apart fully, still standing close to each other. “You really are still so stunning despite what’s happened, more beautiful than any painting I have ever witnessed. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Jongin brings his hand up to carefully caress the tears from Kyungsoo’s stained cheeks.

 

He remembers the strange room they’re in and surveys the area. “Do you know where we are, how we got here?”

 

“I think this is my father’s cabin.” Kyungsoo holds out the picture frame and presents it to Jongin. It’s a photo of an older man and Kyungsoo, and they both look so strange. “This man painted us,” he says, pointing at what appears to be his father. “Somehow we’ve left our canvases and entered into this world. Look.” He then directs to the corner of the room where there sits an unfinished piece, one that looks exactly like Kyungsoo. “He never finished painting me.”

 

“Wait,” Jongin interrupts, his brows creasing. “Then, if we’re just the painting, then where are…?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Kyungsoo says nothing for a few seconds. “I think no one lives here anymore. There is dust everywhere.”

 

They wander the cabin and explore what they can, even daring to go outside and feel the presence of the untouched snow and gradually clouding day. If it were better lighted, the cabin would feel much more inviting than it does. Being paintings, Jongin didn’t think to risk handling a candle in this world. Eventually, they find themselves back in the room they first appeared.

 

It’s unsettling, to say the least, having learned you are truly someone’s creation. It’s upsetting to know they did not work on you to completion.

 

Kyungsoo feels a pang of disappointment in his chest. “If I knew this man, and he is or was my father, why did he not finish me? Where am I?” He thinks about the picture he found and how the younger man looked so happy to be with the other person. “What happened to us? Where did we go?”

 

“This may be something that will never be known,” Jongin says. “I personally wonder why the portrait of my family was so nearly done and yet was also left unfinished.” He walks up to the large painting, cautiously touching the faded, textured surface. “He needed only to properly paint Jungah’s eyes. And it sits here, where I would it assume it should have been sent to the family that asked for this.”

 

“Your family.” Kyungsoo gives Jongin a tender look.

 

“Yes, my family,” Jongin repeats.

 

Feeling drawn, Kyungsoo makes his way over to the desk that rests on the far side of the room. It is unkempt and ashen with layers of grime. Could there be anything that might explain the situation further? He pulls open a drawer.

 

There sits a worn journal.

 

“What is it?” Jongin asks, curious.

 

“I’m not sure,” Kyungsoo answers. He picks it up and thumbs the maroon leather bound cover, and then flips it open to reveal yellowed pages. “My only journal,” he reads from the front, inside cover.

 

The first few are nearly illegible, probably due to age. Some pages are filled with notes, others have sketches and drawings decorating and filling them to the brim. Carefully, he flips till he discovers the last entry. This page is significantly different from the others. It contains only writing, though not the scribbles found at first, but rather organized and neat print. Kyungsoo begins to read.

 

_“It is the month of December. Today is the 30th. I don’t normally treat this journal like a diary, but I worry today. My son is sick and this morning I could not wake him. He seems to be running a fever, and is bedridden for the time being.”_

 

Kyungsoo shares a solemn look with Jongin, and continues.

 

 _“The day has passed. I will hope he does not become any worse.”_ Kyungsoo flips the page.

 

_“It seems I will worry for a while longer. My son is too weak to eat or move and I fear the doctor may not come in time. I work fervently on the portrait of my son with high hope that I can finish and gift it to him when he is well. Alongside this project, I must quickly finish another family portrait that the Kim noble family has hired me to paint.”_

 

“My family,” Jongin speaks softly, and Kyungsoo nods.

 

_“I have not written in this journal like this for some time. Over a week has passed. It is the 11th of January, and my son’s birthday is tomorrow. The doctor did what he could, and has told me that my dear son has pneumonia. Two to three weeks, and it should hopefully clear up. Maybe the portrait that I work on can serve as an early gift while my son is sick on his birthday. I hope the Heavens will hear me today when I pray. May we have strength.”_

 

“It sounds like he really loved you, then,” Jongin says.

 

“It really does,” Kyungsoo replies.

 

_“Today is his birthday. It also seems to be that today is a most terrible day. I was the only one to awake this morning. My heart is broken.”_

 

There’s an almost inaudible gasp as they both realize what the journal is revealing. The ink is splotched and riddled with old tears and it saddens Kyungsoo to know the man that is his father had cried for him.  His hand trembles subtly but he presses on.

 

_“I can’t seem to bring myself to paint anymore. I no longer have the passion for it. The very idea brings no more joy to my heart. It has been several days since the passing of my dearest family. I mourn now, and it seems I am not alone. The Kim’s have sent a letter regarding the painting I cannot even touch. They do not want it. Too sad, they said, as their only son also passed, two days after my own. It was his birthday as well. I cry for their loss as I cry for my own, the similarities profound. May we all find peace.”_

 

“Oh,” Kyungsoo exhales heavily, and moves to enwrap his arm around Jongin in a comforting manner. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Jongin makes no sound as he leans in closer, letting himself nose into Kyungsoo’s hair as he closes his eyes. “Don’t be,” he murmurs. “What happened has happened. If anything, I think you deserve more comfort than I, having not had a father figure in our world.”

 

“Still,” Kyungsoo says, “we all deserve sympathy and to be cared for. I care about you.”

 

“And I for you,” Jongin states.

 

_“This will be my final entry. It’s a shame that I do not plan to fully use this journal. A waste, even. It contains melancholy memories that do not need to be brought up. Despite, I am still sorry. I’m leaving now. I need to move on from this place, the memories here keep me in a solemn state. I loved him very much, more than I loved to paint. Maybe someday I can find it in myself to paint once again. For now, I will say this:_

 

_I miss you everyday, Kyungsoo. You were truly my brightest inspiration. I look forward to the day we meet again. Thank you for being my joy. I love you._

 

_With all my heart,_

_Do Sungwoo.”_

 

Kyungsoo’s breath hitches with restrained tears as he slowly shuts the journal. He clutches it close to him while Jongin lightly shushes and soothes him with his voice.

 

They stay like this for a moment, taking their time to settle their emotions and let the reality sink in.

 

“I probably shouldn’t feel this way.” Kyungsoo is quiet in his thoughts. “I’m just the painting.”

 

“No, don’t say that,” Jongin reprimands softly. “You’ve had a connection to him since the beginning. I’m sure of it. The spirit of the Kyungsoo from this journal lives on in you.” He taps on the book. “You always knew your father was a great painter.”

 

“I wish I knew what happened to him, or if he’s even alive. There’s no year, and we don’t know what year it is here.”

 

“I wonder the same thing.”

 

“What do we do, Jongin?” Kyungsoo wonders aloud. “Where do we go? What happens now?”

 

“I don’t know.” Jongin glances throughout the room, and settles on the view outside the window. “But there is one idea I have.”

 

“What is it?”

 

Jongin nears the desk and picks up a paintbrush.

 

“We paint.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! I just want to say I do wish I could have worked some more with the ending to relate more to the title but I can always do that later dkjdhjfhhfkfh I just really needed to turn this in lol. Thank you so much for reading!


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